


The First Time

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all: this is first time sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think of myself as a smut writer at all and I have 3 other projects that are not at all smutty.... this just..... came out first. Uhm. 
> 
> This is only the second smut fic I have written in all my life, and the closest depiction I can get to what I think Florabella _actually_ is in real life.

It starts on tour, as all the best habits do. It's the last date, and it's one of their first, fairly important tours. Only a week long, but inebriating nonetheless, to finally be getting _somewhere_ after months of hard work.

They go out partying until it's the wee hours of the morning, and god help anyone who tries to come into their path. They will grab any person who looks miserable and lead them to the dance floor until they crack a smile. They will have a healthy competition to see who gets the most free drinks from other, smitten club-goers. Above all, they will take any excuse to touch each other more than usual, arms casually slipped around waists, or shared barstools when there isn't enough room to sit.

Partying makes them daring. That's why they both look forward to it so much.

They can actually walk back from the club to the hotel they are so close. It's a brisk, fifteen-minute stroll in the salty sea-air of Brighton, which is enough to sober them up. They could just as easily walk up to the station and take the first train of the day back to London, but fuck it, they have a hotel room booked under their name and it's still a novelty, and they're gonna make good use of it. Someone's gonna make their bed the next morning (or rather, afternoon) and at least for Florence, it's certainly better than her own mattress, which rests quite inconsolably upon the bare floor of her bedroom-was-lounge, without even a frame.

She steps into the room ahead of Isabella, and takes in the morning light – maybe just a tad too bright. Feeling way too _content_ to just sleep, Florence turns her head towards her friend, who's dropping her clutch onto the room's long, narrow desk and kicking off her heels. Acting on an impulse that she's already felt hundreds of times and never quite followed through with, she leans in close to Isa's face, gently pressing her lips to Isa's with a sigh.

She remembers after an instant to close her eyes, as this is more enjoyable when you take one of the five senses away, but misses Isabella's reaction of shock and surprise.

It didn't come _completely_ unexpected, maybe, but Isa's always been afraid of it. Afraid that it would happen for the wrong reasons, the wrong reasons being “you're my only friend who I know is into girls, so I'll make a move on you because I'm less scared of rejection”.

Isabella hated that reasoning. It had happened to her once before and, defying that argument, she _had_ rejected the girl, and actually almost felt a little offended. Now, she hated the thought that Florence might similarly want her as an easy way out. All she wished for, was for Florence to want her for _her_.

All this and more goes through her head when their lips first touch, and still it doesn't stop her from responding in kind. She can feel Florence's breath caressing her bottom lip: it's warm, and it makes her skin tingle. Tomorrow (today) this will seem like an awful idea. Tomorrow, Florence will regret it and things will be awkward. Tomorrow they will agree this will never happen again.

Little does she know that it will become a regular feature of their tours, instead.

Today – this morning – she kisses back.

=

Florence twists her body around, and Isa follows without thinking, so that she's now pressed up against the desk. Florence shifts her weight forward enough to make it inevitable for Isabella to actually sit on the desk, which makes them just that tiny bit more level. Not that Isa minds looking up at those green eyes - however blurry they might seem right now. Looking up is looking to the sky; it's hoping that Florence actually _really_ wants her.

As her best friend leans down to taste her again, Isa remembers to close her eyes, too.

There are different types of drunken moments, she thinks as she trails the tip of her index finger from Florence's collarbone, down to the middle of her dress, where she follows the path of the buttons leading to a thick leather belt: there's the kind where you pluck up the courage to do something you otherwise wouldn't, and the kind that's just plain stupid, where you do something you don't actually want to and then wonder why.

The doubt about which kind this is is dispelled when Florence breaks the kiss and speaks.

“We don't have to go on if you don't want to,” she mumbles timidly.

Heart warmed by such adorable embarrassment, Isa caresses Flo's cheek, and whispers back “Whatever makes you think I wouldn't want to?”

“The type of girls that you sleep with are nothing like me, Isa.” Florence states, having seen a fair share of boyish-looking girls much shorter than herself go home with Isabella after a night out partying.

“Shut up,” Isa says, growing braver by the minute. “You're gorgeous.”

As if to punctuate the statement, Isabella unclips the chunky belt and swiftly undoes the zip on the side of Florence's dress, even if this means that Flo must step back and break contact to pull it over her head.

Isa's heart is pounding so fast she can actually _see_ her chest rising up and down in a quick rhythm, just above her cleavage.

Florence stands before her in nothing but a bra and knickers, and Isa isn't sure if it's desire or self-consciousness that clouds Flo's eyes in that way. She wants to touch every inch of skin that she can see, and she doesn't even know where to start. One hand goes straight back to Florence's collarbone, tracing just underneath it this time; the other rests flat against her stomach, and sometimes slips away to the left, defining the curve of her waist. It's so warm and soft it could drive Isabella to madness.

Florence is overwhelmed; short of breath; she could cry. She can feel herself getting wet with each stroke of Isa's hand down her side and, respectfully, _over_ her bra. Her nipples are so sensitive and the touch is making her light-headed, but Florence is way too shy to remove her bra unless Isa asks her to. She feels at a disadvantage when Isa is still fully clothed, so she fumbles with the zipper on her skin-tight boob tube dress, and peels it down slightly until it sits around her waist. Isabella seems as confident as ever, even without clothes, although she looks slightly serious, wistful almost.

Isa brings her head forward and places a kiss just between Florence's breasts. Of course she'd be wearing a balconette bra; it's like they invented them for her. Flo's hand insinuates between Isa's skin and her bra cup, not waiting for an invitation, feeling blindly for her nipple with her eyes closed and her breath unsteady; she pinches when she finds it.

Isa's sent into a frenzy at the contact; she's pretty sure her knickers are soaked through. Taking charge, she unhooks Florence's bra and doesn't even wait for it to be fully off to attack, mouth capturing one nipple and tongue flickering wildly. Flo's other breast is at the mercy of Isa's hand and her head is tilted back, her eyes shut tight as she moans softly.

This is really happening.

The only way that Florence can think of, to stop the torture – pleasure – rapture – is to sneak a hand under Isa's dress (which is short, and she mentally thanks the heavens for her friend's dress sense) and go straight to her core. No teasing, no caressing; just two fingers placed flat over Isabella's clit above the fabric of her knickers.

As predicted, Isa goes still, forgetting what she was doing long enough for Florence to lean in even more. Now Isa has to put her arms behind her so she doesn't fall back and hit the wall, and Flo feels another wave of arousal at being completely in control for once. Her fingers rub at a steady pace, and occasionally one fingertip will slip _under_ Isa's pants, scooping up moisture and causing Isa to catch her breath.

How exactly is it that Isabella, the seasoned heartbreaker, who has often fantasised about initiating Florence to the world of fucking girls, is being outdone by her younger and more inexperienced friend?

Isa's sweaty palms start sliding off the desk, and she can't even steady herself anymore. Frustrated, she throws her arms around Florence's neck, and as her face is resting close to her breasts again, she moves in to capture the nipple that missed out on the Isabella Summers treatment just a few moments ago. She actually takes it between her teeth this time, and pulls away slowly, which causes Florence to want to up her game and go further. Harder.

Flo's hand disappears for a second, but Isa can't even mourn the loss of contact that it quickly slips back in – properly under the waistband of her knickers this time, and then straight inside her with one finger. She wants to scream; she manages to get away with just a small cry. She doesn't even know where Florence has learnt to do this; she doesn't _want_ to know.

She feels drained of blood and of all feeling, except for one place.

“Fuck me hard,” she pleads with whatever sense she has left. The words get lost, muffled against Florence's skin, but Flo needs no invitation: this is what she wants, too. Her finger pumps fast in and out of Isa, and the palm of her hand adds a steadily growing pressure onto her clit.

Isa clutches to her tighter, pressing her forehead to Flo's chest. She doesn't even need to announce when she's coming; the sounds she's making speak for themselves. It's that delicious hybrid between pain and pleasure; Florence only knows she's doing well because sometimes Isa hisses out a “yes”.

Isa orgasms with a liberating scream, and if Florence didn't know better, she'd say Isa was sobbing, face still smushed between her breasts and eyes still shut. Not wanting to come back to reality just yet.

As delicately as she can, Florence pulls out of her, resting her fingers on the outside of Isa's underwear. She looks down at the top of Isa's head, and takes a step back, forcing Isa to let go of her neck and just rest her hands in her lap. She's still got her dress on.

When Isabella finally meets Flo's gaze, her eyes have taken on a slight grey tinge, probably reflecting the cloudy, very English sunrise outside their bedroom window. _Their_ bedroom window. They've been sharing rooms for a few months now; it's surprising it took so long for things to take this turn.

Isa sums it up in one sentence.

“You fuck even better than you sing.”

Florence blushes, and suddenly it's her again, Florence, baby-faced, shy Florence, Florence who didn't even take Isa's bra off.

Isa finally stands up from the desk, pushes her dress down around her ankles and finally steps out of it, unclipping her own strapless bra, and chucking it behind her. Removing her knickers is pretty useless by this point, yet she still does it, wanting Florence to see _all_ of her, and also feeling slightly more powerful this way. Fearless. She's about to take her best friend the way she's always wanted, and Florence won't know what hit her.

It's such an easy trick to step towards someone, only for them to step back in reflex and find themselves cornered. The back of Florence's legs hits the bed, and all Isabella has to do is prod her gently. Florence lets herself fall onto the sheets; Isa presses one knee firmly between her legs and crawls forward, towering over her for once.

“I love you.” She says. Finally, being the one in control gives her the courage needed to look straight into Flo's green eyes. She props herself up on one elbow, and leans down to kiss Florence, slowly, passionately this time. Her heart could explode into a million pieces; she's still not totally sure she doesn't just want to burst into tears.

Florence's lips are soft, responsive, her dark red lipstick smudged at one corner. Isa touches her forehead to Flo's and chuckles, tenderly rubbing the smudge off with her thumb. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before the next kiss, tentatively slipping tongue in this time, feeling butterflies when Flo reacts.

Florence runs her tongue alongside Isa's, and Isa pushes in further, losing all consciousness of the time and place. She notices the bedside lamp is on, which is jarring in daylight, so she closes her eyes to focus on the sensation. Flo's tongue caresses Isa's bottom lip, then her teeth replace it, biting gently.

Isabella returns her hand to Flo's nipple briefly, and if the way she's arching her back is any indication, she likes it, and she's ready for more. As her hand runs deliberately slowly across the plane of Flo's flat stomach, Isabella puts her lips to Flo's ear, and she whispers hoarsely, “This is not just sex.”

She grasps Florence's sheer, frilly knickers in her fist, and pulls down roughly. Florence is quick to wriggle out of them, even with her eyes closed and a growingly hazy knowledge of who and where she is.

Isabella's fingertips skim Florence's clit once, twice, pressing harder.

“This,” she says, timing her next words with the exact moment she enters Florence with her middle finger, “is a celebration.”

Florence's gasp sounds like she's just woken up from the most horrible of nightmares; except this is reality and she's actually enjoying herself too much. Her hips lift up to meet Isa's hand, willing her to push as far in as she can.

She's so astonishingly wet that Isa fears one finger is not enough, so she adds another. Florence moans loudly and squirms on the bedsheets, exposing her neck. Not letting an opportunity slide past, Isabella kisses just under her ear, and keeps trailing kisses down her neck – she can even see her pulse, beating fast – and across the hollow of her collarbone, all the while working her fingers in and out of Florence, savouring the way her hips are rising to meet her with each thrust.

Florence's breathing is so ragged and frenzied, Isa is surprised when Flo actually has the presence of mind to turn her head and kiss her hard, her tongue seeking out Isa's in time with the rhythm of her hand.

Isa curls her fingers inside Florence, feeling for her g-spot, triumphant when she hits a slightly rough patch that makes Flo cry out in pleasure. The sounds she's making are out of this world, but ultimately it's Isa's palm pressed on her clit that sends Florence over the edge. She comes with a shudder and goes limp, shivering with each time she contracts around Isa's fingers.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she looks up at Isabella with something almost like longing. Isa slides out of her then, and brings her fingers up between their faces: soaked to the knuckles. As a rule, she does love making a big show of licking them clean; Florence surprises her when she, too, takes just her fingertips into her mouth and sucks lightly, tasting herself.

Isa finally crumbles down onto the bed and puts her right hand on Flo's waist, coaxing her to rotate slightly so they're facing each other. She makes sure that their naked bodies are touching wherever possible, and her finger plays gently with Florence's bottom lip.

She locks her gaze into Florence's green eyes mischievously. They both know this is going to happen again. It's too good not to.

They share a complicitous smile.

=

So that's how it starts. It becomes more or less a regular thing, a “celebration” as Isa called it. They're not a couple, and they never will be, but they learn to know each other's bodies off by heart. They're there for each other through tensions, and heartbreak, and Florence's boyfriends wanting sex the way boys do. Isa herself has the occasional hook-up, but she gets bored of people easily, in a way that she could never get bored of Florence.

Sometimes, Florence feels like they have perfected the fuckbuddy relationship, and she wants to tell the world just because it makes her feel so adult and balanced. She can be with her best friend in bed and learn a million ways to make her come, and the next day they can go out separately and spend time with different friends. No fights, no obligations, and the sex is perfect.

No one knows. At least they pretend not to know. Some hotels have fairly thin walls.

Sometimes Florence sees a couple arguing in the street, or at the park, or on the bus over a phone call. And in those moments, she feels grateful that she and Isa can sleep together without any of the romantic baggage that comes with it.

Then she sighs.

And she admits to herself, _Yeah, right._


End file.
